


meet you in the middle

by madameofmusic



Series: 34 Days [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 34 Days Challenge, Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 21:39:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7009126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madameofmusic/pseuds/madameofmusic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kent meets Jack Zimmermann for the first time.</p><p>(For Week 1 of the 34 Days Challenge: "Before The Draft")</p>
            </blockquote>





	meet you in the middle

Kent hates his billet family from the very start. They’re too touchy, too into hugs and  _ touching _ and Kent just-

He can’t. His mom was more the “side-smile and nice presents when she could afford them” type. His billet mom gives him a hug within the first few moments after meeting him, and his billet dad frequently wraps his arm around Kent’s shoulder and calls him  _ son _ , like the guy doesn’t already have three sons of his own, and it’s too much. 

Kent hates them, because he missed home, and he’d never say it, but sometimes he regrets joining juniors, especially so far away. It’s nothing like New York.

But he sucks it up, because if he makes it big, he can pay off his mom’s house. He can send his little sister to college, and can do (and buy) whatever he  _ wants _ , which is something kind of revolutionary for someone who grew up paying for secondhand hockey equipment mowing lawns and babysitting every free night he had. 

His first day, he finds he’s not a big fan of his team either. All of them seem to think if they stick their chests out the farthest, and sneer at one another, they’ll be the best. It makes Kent laugh. 

Because he knows he can play, and that’s all that matters. He’ll get drafted, and he’ll go to some small team, and then he’ll build from there. His mom always told him that if he kept his head down and worked, the rest would come later.

He hates it though. He’s been keeping his head down for the last 10 years, playing hockey while his teammates made fun of him for his size, and then started calling him names and Kent’s sick to  _ death _ of it. 

So maybe he tries a little too hard that first practice, and maybe he shuts a few guys up from the very beginning and makes a few, well, not  _ enemies, _ but certainly not friends. He proves himself, proves that he’s worth his place on the team, and maybe they’ll leave him alone about being so short.

In the locker room after, Jack Zimmermann of all people approaches him. Kent had looked at the name on the back of his jersey, and wrote him off as just another cocky asshole, a hockey legend’s kid who didn’t really have all that much to prove. 

Zimmermann hadn’t talked the entire practice. Kent noticed that more than anything, and attributed to thinking that maybe the guy thought he was better than everyone else. 

Kent hated him, too. 

Zimmermann stuck out his hand, still in half of his pads, and smiled the smallest, shyest smile Kent thought he’d ever seen on another human. “I’m Jack.” 

Kent grunted, still stripping off his own pads, and ignored Jack’s hand. “I thought you played really well today,” Jack continued, dropping his hand back to stick, running it up and down the shaft of his stick as he talked, a nervous tick. 

Kent paused in packing his bag, and looked up at Jack. “Thanks.” He said, narrowing his eyes, looking for the telltale signs that would confirm Kent’s suspicions that Jack was making fun of him.

But the other boy seemed nothing but friendly, and painfully shy. “You did too.” Kent finally said, earning another small smile, and a shrug from Jack. 

“Thanks.” Jack shifted, resting his weight against the stall. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but couldn’t think of the right words. 

Kent considered him for another moment, and then looked back down at his bag. “Maybe we’ll be on the same line. You’re a center, right?”

Jack nodded. “And you’re a winger.”

Kent nodded. “Left. We should figure out some stuff, maybe nail down some sweet plays or something.” He punctuated his statement with a half-hearted shrug. He wasn’t sure if he was being nice, or more. 

Jack settled something in him. Maybe it was how quiet he was, or how he hadn’t joined in on the earlier posturing, but Kent didn’t think he would mind actually working closer with him. 

Jack smiled fuller now, eyes shining. “Yeah, please.” He leaned in conspiratorially, lips curled into a small grin. “Besides, I don’t think anyone else could keep up with you anyway. You’re too fast.”

Kent laughed. “Maybe. But no one got as many shots in as you did today.” 

Jack leaned back, and lifted a shoulder. “Possibly true. Anyway…”

Kent stuck out his hand, and smiled at Jack. “See you on the ice tomorrow, Zimms.”

Jack nodded, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake. “See you, Parse.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was totally unbeta'd, and any mistakes in hockey procedure come from lack of research, honestly. 
> 
> Come prompt me on my [ tumblr.](http://whiskeytangofrogman.tumblr.com/)


End file.
